Two tall obelisks stood together in silent vigil before the crowd of Dwarves that were gathered before them. The crowd consisted mostly of Dwarves of the mercantile persuasion, but there were still some warriors among them. These two obelisks have been erected at great cost, and now they were finally complete. Engraved at the base of one of these obelisks was the name “Grehna”, and at the other was the name “Jorunga”. These Dwarves were gathered on this occasion to commemorate not only the completion of this monument but the beginning of a new era for the Durin’s Folk Trading Company. Frimsi Gembeard was to officially become the new leader of the Durin’s Folk Trading Company, but before he did so he deemed it prudent to put some traumas from the company’s past to rest in the best way he knew how. Hailing from Erebor, Frimsi always had a liking for ostentatious displays of Dwarven stonework. But when commissioning this monument to the slain daughters of the previous leader of the company he tried his best to grant it the solemnity it was due. And he was doing the same just now, internally subduing his usual laughs and quips with the pressure of this solemn occasion. He stood quietly before the assembled crowd of Dwarves. They were expecting a speech from him.
“Kinsmen, today we stand at the site where a dream was supposed to die. Many years ago, Skegrym’s renowned spice shop was burned down by marauding goblins; it was destroyed along with his two most precious treasures that were beyond the worth of all the treasure hoards a Dwarf could ever own. Namely his two daughters Grehna and Jorunga, who have now been immortalized by the skill of our finest stonemasons in the monument you all see before you today. By the grace of Mahal Skegrym did not have to suffer the loss of three daughters that terrible day, as his youngest daughter Oluva miraculously survived. But that should have been the end of it. Skegrym should have thanked Mahal that at least one of his precious daughters was spared such a brutal end, and he should have disbanded the Durin’s Folk Trading Company promptly thereafter. All of the company’s most valuable assets were destroyed in the goblin invasion anyway, and that is not to mention the emotional trauma that would continue to haunt all those involved in the company. It would have made perfect sense for Durin’s Folk Trading Company to die then and there. But against all odds, from both within and without, Skegrym continued to run the Durin’s Folk Trading Company after that tragedy had occurred. He did not want to run it, yet he continued to do so for several long and unforgiving years. Why did he put himself through such agony? Because we are not men who forget about the dreams of their ancestors after only a few generations, because we are not elves who abandon their dreams as soon as they are confronted with darkness. We are Dwarves, we are Durin’s Folk. And we never give up on our dreams. Mahal made us that way. To force the cruel circumstances of Middle-Earth to adhere to our vision is what we are meant to do. That is what the Durin’s Folk Trading Company is all about: equipping our kinsmen with the tools and resources they need to pursue their dreams and so honor their heritage. In continuing to run the company, Skegrym honored that ancient drive that brought Grehna and Jorunga into the world, that ancient drive that endowed every action they took during their short yet remarkable lives with meaning and purpose. And in continuing to run the company, Skegrym honored that ancient drive that will bring him back to Grehna and Jorunga in the halls set apart, that ancient drive that will call upon them all to work together again in the remaking of Arda. Skegrym has honored his duty to his kin better than any Dwarf I have ever known, and it will be my honor to finally grant him much deserved rest as I assume leadership of the Durin’s Folk Trading Company. I will now continue to run the company, despite whatever travesties may assail it, so that the dream of our people will never die.”
Frimsi sighed with relief as he was met with enough applause to indicate he didn’t do a terrible job or accidentally insulted someone in some terrible way. He mustered the courage to glance around the crowd to catch the faces of Skegrym and Oluva, but he wasn’t able to notice them. But they were certainly in the crowd somewhere. He sighed again; the feeling of stage fright was quite unusual for him, and he hoped he would never have to feel it again. The air was chill, so Frimsi put on the fur mantle that was sent to him as a celebratory gift from Altli in his escapades in the far north. This fur mantle was apparently made from the fur of a particularly large and ferocious sabre-tooth that was native to Forochel and so was very valuable. Or at least that is what the letter had said. Frimsi smiled as he headed for the tavern, so that he could join his kinsmen to drink their sorrows away in the proper Dwarven fashion.
